38. Emmett

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

emmett

I’min my first NHL game ever, and I’m choking.

I got the call-up this afternoon while skating at the arena in Providence, about to take on Boston’s AHL team. Asher’s teammate, Kappo, Asher’s first-line winger, injured himself and is out for possibly the rest of the season.

I’ve been kicking ass and getting attention in Rochester, but even with doing that, when my coach came and told me to pack my shit, I thought I was being traded. Or sent down to Jacksonville to the ECHL. Then he said the most amazing words I’ve ever heard in my life. “They’re calling you up to the big show.”

This is my chance to shine, but the pressure is killing me.

Because of Kappo injuring himself, the lines have all been moved around to accommodate my appearance on the fourth line.

For years, the media and everyone tormented Asher over living in West’s shadow, and then they were obsessed with Benny and me, whether or not we’d live up to Asher’s and West’s careers, whether there would be a time when two Daltons were on the NHL ice together, and now, here we are.

Asher’s in his eleventh season, and I’m merely a fill-in tonight, but it’s happening.

And that’s why I’m positively choking. Because if I don’t put on a good show, if I don’t show up to play and impress, it’s going to be a very short NHL career.

I don’t know the team, we didn’t even get a chance to practice, my linemates aren’t willing to give me a shot on goal, and I get it. How many people get called up from the AHL and go on to score a goal in their first game? Actually, it’s six hundred and thirty-one. I know because I looked that up on the plane.

I’d kill to become number six hundred and thirty-two, but I can’t do that when I’m too busy freaking out about achieving it.

There’s a slap at the back of my helmet as I take my seat after another terrible shift. We lost possession and spent most of the time in the defensive zone. I’m lucky my line is made up of some defensive forwards, and our goalie is on point tonight.

“Get your head out of your ass,” Asher says.

“I’m trying.” I wish I could be on his line. It would be dumb for the coaches to do that for obvious reasons, putting an unproven greenie on the line that sees the most ice time, but Asher trained me. He got me to where I am today, and we’re in sync. I can read him like no other. Well, other than Benny, but he’s not out here. It’s me and Asher representing the Dalton name, and I need to prove myself.

I have this stupid image in my head of what I want my life to be like, and I find myself daydreaming about having the huge house in the suburbs, a professor husband at home who only works because he wants to and not because he has to, and maybe some kids or at least furry babies. In every single vision, I’m happy.

I mean, I’m happy now. I’m ecstatic. But I want to give Jonah everything, and this is my chance.

If, like Asher says, I can get my head out of my ass.

Buffalo pulls a lucky penalty out of Ottawa, and that puts us on the power play.

Us.I’m a Buffalo player, and this is fucking surreal.

Right. Head in game. Not in ass.

Asher turns to the head coach, the dude who has been Asher’s coach for the last three years and is used to his shit, and says, “Put the kid in for extra offense.”

“No,” Coach says flatly.

“Trust me. One of us will put it in the net.”

The coach side-eyes him.

“You don’t need to,” I say. It’s a lot of pressure.

We’re running out of time to change up the lines anyway.

“Okay, go.” Coach taps my shoulder and pulls back Grimsby, one of the defensemen.

Asher skates up to the face-off, and this surreal night gets even more unbelievable when he looks at me and gives me an up-nod.

Oh God, oh fuck, I’m going to screw this up, and if Ottawa gets a shorthanded goal because of me, I will never live it down.

Asher’s face-off percentage is one of the highest in the league, but for the first time ever, I hope he doesn’t win this.

What was I thinking? That becoming an NHL star would be easy?

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

Asher gets that puck right out of there, and it flies in my direction.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Thank God for reflex or muscle memory or whatever the hell it is that kicks in because I manage to pass it right back to Asher in perfect position for the tip of his blade.

Ottawa gets their men in position, all four on the ice protecting their goalie in a zigzag line in front of the goal.

Their penalty-kill game is abysmal, so we should have this in the bag, but as time winds down on the power play, where all we can manage is a few passes and some failed attempts on goal from everyone except me because I’m too scared to take the shot, that telepathy connection that I usually only have with Benny kicks in. I skate to the right of the crease. Asher skates near the face-off circle closest to me. Everyone has an eye on him, waiting to see which way he’s going to pass. To Lewiston, our D-man, or to Houghton, the left-winger over the other side.

Everyone is expecting either of those. There’s no way Asher would try to pass to me when I haven’t taken a shot on goal all night. But none of these guys know Asher like I do, so when he finds his opening and lets that puck fly, I hold my breath and swing.

Ottawa’s goalie dives, and it’s like I watch it all happen in slow motion. He’s moving toward the puck to intercept it, all his teammates join in, but my shot, as sloppy as it is, goes right in between all of them and over the goalie’s shoulder.

I’m too in shock when the lamp lights up and that glorious home goal horn blasts. It’s not until I’m almost knocked off my skates by my brother and my new teammates that it really sinks in.

I did it.

I fucking did it.

My NHL debut has blown all my dreams out of the damn water.

Asher lifts his glass and gets the whole bar’s attention. “We may have lost the game, but my little brother got his first NHL goal and assist. Two fucking points on your first game. We’re proud of you, Emmy.”

For a second, I worry Asher’s gone soft and lost his mind, but when Houghton mocks, “Aww, Emmy. From now on, you’ll only be known as Emmy. Or Emily. Or⁠—”

Asher shoves him. “Shut it.”

There’s my big brother.

The rest of the game was a struggle, one we ended up walking away from with a loss, but after I got that first goal, my confidence soared. It was like I just needed to get the first one out of the way, and once I did, I was much more relaxed on the ice, which is how I ended up getting an assist in the third period with my fourth-line teammate, Roachie.

Would I have liked to have won? Of course, but if it came to a choice between scoring or winning, I’d choose that goal every time. At least for my debut.

Asher raises his glass into the air. “To the Daltons finally having two of us in the NHL at the same time.”

This was our dad’s dream. First with West and Asher and then with Benny and me. It’s not how he would’ve wanted it, and with Asher pushing retirement, it’s not going to be for a long time, but I know Dad is proud of us.

I glance over to where West is, standing with his husband, with a soft smile and shiny eyes. I turn to Jonah, who hasn’t left my side since we left the arena. “I need to go thank West for everything that he’s done for me.”

West gave up this moment—the moment the media and the whole hockey world wanted from the beginning—to raise me and the others. My first NHL goal wasn’t my achievement alone. It belongs to West. To Asher. And to Benny. Sure, Benny might have thrown a spanner into my hockey career in the beginning, but with our time apart, we’ve both been able to see how we held each other back in so many different ways.

We’re still codependent as fuck. There have been many times where one of us have called and then driven three and a half hours in the middle of the night to meet at a seedy diner in Utica, roughly halfway between Colchester and Rochester. It’s a bit further for Benny than me, but if the team found out I was taking a seven-hour roundtrip to have milkshakes with my brother when we have a game the next day, they’d kill me.

The diner is no Betty’s, but it’s our substitute place. Benny calls it Elaine’s. There is no Elaine.

Benny and I will always have that need for each other that other siblings might not ever understand, but we’ve also grown in so many ways. We both have our own lives now, we’re each going in the direction we want to go, and instead of holding each other back in fear of losing one another, we’re supportive.

“You go thank your brother. I’ll go get you another drink.” Jonah kisses my cheek, and I’m really glad he didn’t say he’ll come with me because while I do need to thank West, I also need to check he remembered to get the thing I stashed at his house three years ago when I signed my contract with Rochester.

I bought it as a symbol. Or a goal, I guess. I knew, even back then, that I wanted a future with Jonah. But I wasn’t going to use it until I got my first goal in the NHL.

Maybe that’s the real reason I was freaking out there on the ice tonight. Because if I got that puck in that stupid, tiny, little net, I was sure my life would change.

Am I going to last long in the NHL? Probably not. Most likely, Kappo will heal and come back, and I’ll be shuffled around, maybe traded, or sent back down to the AHL.

But getting that goal tonight … it’s almost as if the universe is telling me I’m ready for this next step.

I approach West and don’t hesitate to throw my arms around him. When I pull back, he’s still glassy-eyed, and if I have my way, he’s about to be bawling like a baby. “I want you to have something.” I reach into my suit pocket and pull out the puck from tonight. “You get my first NHL goal puck.”

He backs up a few steps. “What? No, I can’t take that.”

“You can, and you will. If you refuse, I’ll just give it to Jasper.”

Jasper was understandably upset when he found out about Benny and me switching for so many years, but I think he’s close to forgiving himself for not noticing we were struggling.

We’ve told him a million times to stop blaming himself. None of them, not Jasper, not West, not Asher, were responsible for what we did.

“After everything the twins have put you through, you deserve the puck,” Jasper says. “Although, you’ll probably get it lost with all the other pucks we have floating around the house for no reasonable reason.”

“I’m a hockey coach,” West says.

“You don’t see me leaving math problems all over the house.”

I butt in. “I remember one time you left college exams all over the dining table, but with you being in your sixties, you probably don’t remember that.”

Jasper gasps. “I am still forty-nine, you little shithead. Forties. That’s this many.” He holds up four fingers. “How … I can’t …” He turns to West. “Our children are out of the will!”

“That’s okay, I don’t really want old math books when you die, but … you called me your child.” I touch my heart. “That means you love meeeee.”

“I’d love you more if you stopped calling me old.”

“Deal.” I hold out my hand for him to shake, but he pulls me to him and wraps his arms around me in a hug.

“I am proud of you, you know. Both you and Benny. You made mistakes, mistakes I should’ve seen and hate myself for missing, but you fought your way back and for what you both want out of life. I know I came into your lives after your parents were already gone, but I do look at you like a son, and I do love you.”

Fuck, now it’s my turn to get all misty-eyed.

Jasper pulls away from me, and when he does, West is holding up a ring box to me.

“Is this still the plan?”

“Yup.” I take it from him and put it in my pocket where the puck was.

“You chose good with that one,” West says. “He reminds me of⁠—”

“If you say your husband, I’m going to have to break your jaw so you can never say that ever again.”

West laughs. “I was going to say he reminds me of Dad.”

I groan. “I didn’t need to know that either.”

Jonah appears at my side with a new drink for me, and I jump a mile high, wondering how long he’s been there or if he saw the ring box.

I pat my pants pocket and smile at Jonah. “Let’s go for a walk.”

The bar we’ve come to celebrate at is one we’ve been to many times before with Asher and the team. It’s their celebration and commiseration place, but the rooftop view is amazing. They have a firepit that overlooks the city, and while Buffalo isn’t exactly the prettiest or biggest place there is, it’s where my heart is. I’m hoping it’s where Jonah’s could be too.

“It’s fucking freezing,” he hisses.

My poor Cali boy. I direct him closer to the fire. “Here, take my jacket.” I slip out of my jacket and wrap it around his shoulders. You’d think he’d be used to the cold by now.

“How are you not freezing?” he asks.

“Too much adrenaline.”

“From the game?”

I shake my head. “From what I’m about to do.”

I suck in a shuddery breath, take out the ring box, and get to one knee.

Before I can tell him how much he means to me, how I love him with all my heart and he was my end goal, my dream, my everything from the beginning, he beats me to it.

“Fuck, yes. I mean, just yes. We don’t have to tell anyone I swore when you proposed, do we?”

I chuckle. “Well, technically, I haven’t even proposed yet.”

“Oh, shit. Right. Okay. Umm, go.”

“This right here is why I love you. And why I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry⁠—”

“Yes.”

“—me?”

“Yes. Again. Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.”

I stand, and he grabs me around my waist and crushes me against him. We kiss to the sounds of hoots and hollers all around us, and when we pull apart, Asher’s filming this on his phone. Well, shit, that’s going to go viral, but I don’t care if the whole world knows how much I love Jonah.

Whether I stay in the NHL or get sent back down, it doesn’t matter. Hockey is important, but what’s more important is making Jonah happy every single day for the rest of his life.